


Roses and Regrets

by uragani



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, Foul Language, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uragani/pseuds/uragani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the betrayer focuses on the betrayed in their darkest moment, the two come together to find something new. Before it's lost again. -- Basically a set-up for the end of the Primo Vongola.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses and Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted Sep. 17th, 2011 on Dreamwidth. Reposting for posterity, and because it was basically hidden over there.

Loneliness. That's probably what drives him to it. What makes him look at _Daemon Spade_ of all people, and think about it for longer than a second.  
  
Giotto'd taken off, and the family had dissolved in the face of Ricardo and all that he brought with him.  Ugetsu's smiling face, and Knuckle's pride gone. Lampo had gone back to his family, finally, and Alaude had taken to copping a feel, or whatever an agent did with a job name like that. G. was left alone then, the only stronghold for the family that once was, not able to escape Italy, because he didn't know where he'd go. Follow Giotto to Japan maybe, despite being told to keep put to wait, to be _patient_ despite the idiot knowing he never could. No, following him was stupid. So he'd ended up a two-bit criminal in a tiny little town, outskirts of Italy, and right that instant he was watching the sashay of the last remaining ring-bearing Vongola Guardian.  
  
Daemon Spade. The fucking aristocrat had lost Elena, but you wouldn't have known by the way he acted. That watch tucked close to his heart, and after that week or so of being a missing person, he'd come back out on top, full of rage and determination. He'd been coaxing people into place, and G. was watching with a dull knowledge that he was no longer Storm Guardian. Some pipsqueak blond had taken that position. If he had to hear that stupid Oshishi laugh one more time... But Spade was there, still keeping _his_ ring. Still able to contain _his_ power easily. G. clenched his fists, and ducked his head when Spade turned back to glance at the man standing there staring at him like some lovestruck buffoon. G. turned abruptly, and stalked off, every muscle taut with the rage that filled his core to bursting. He forbade himself from watching Spade and wondering if that traitorous bastard even began to still care for them. If it really had been a lie every step of the way...  
  
G. had curled up in the garden, Giotto's garden, somewhere closer to the man that anywhere else on the estate. He didn't want to move, didn't want to leave. Ricardo was going to wage another war with a family they had no business pissing off when their forces were so weak, when Giotto had dismissed so many people before he left. Didn't want them involved or something. Damn his fool soft heart for this mess. But stragglers made their way back, and they were moving. Covertly at times, Spade hand holding the baby king through his first steps as a warlord. He dropped his head against his knees as he curled up on the hidden bench under the aspen tree, one of many dotted across the garden. His red hair obscured his face as he cringed openly, angry, hurting like _hell_ over being left behind and forgotten. Spade wasn't even family anymore. He was the last staunch warrior in this battle who even still gave a damn. The crunch of booted feet on the white gravel surrounding him made him jerk his head up. He was starting to suspect Ricardo was tired of the old guard hanging around, even if he was an old dog, ready to retire, ready to die. He figured the Secundo would take it upon himself to get rid of G. sooner or later.  
  
Spade though, Spade was walking past like he had a _purpose_ in Giotto's garden, and G. sneered at him angrily, hackles up at the man who'd betrayed them. His chest _hurt_ wanting this shit to not be true, to see his family together again. With two in their graves it'd never happen. Spade ignored the sullen man, eyes dark with rage as he watched the illusionist and walked up to a rose bush. A glint of metal and a snipping noise sent a single rosebud dropping into a gloved hand before he turned on his heel once more back towards the mansion. G. felt the inklings of curiosity, wondering what the man was up to when Spade stopped and stared at him as if realizing he was there for the first time. The lack of surprise, or glint, or anything to his eyes made G. acknowledge Spade had known he was there the entire time, and this pause was a show, a joke. Some way of teasing the storm primo.  
  
"Oh," that damned royal tone of his, "I didn't see you there _G._ " He paused a moment longer glancing at the homestead like he was gauging how long it'd take to get back and how much time he could afford to spare. A calculated act. G. felt the bile rise in his throat and slammed his heels into the gravel under the marble bench, shoving himself up and off it with a snarl.  
  
"Fuck you," he hissed, shoulders hunching up and hands slipping into his pockets, he turned and stalked off, leaving Spade watching him from behind head tilted and mouth quirked. G. wrinkled his nose, head down and eyes wet. He didn't need the family anymore. They were lost anyways. It was time to start over, find something for an old mafia dog to do. He went rigid when he opened his eyes and found a dark spot in front of him, almost having stepped directly into Spade's chest. Was he walking in circles? He looked back over his shoulder, to see mist wisping away and then back up to Spade, mouth dry. Oh, the illusionist had taken an interest. Never a good thing.  
  
"What?" he snapped, taking charge of the conversation and irritably shoving Spade in the chest, out of the way and moving to keep walking. The hand around his wrist stopped him dead though, as Spade pulled it up alongside his face and pressed the ridge of a high cheekbone against the inside of his wrist, close to his pulse which was quickly skyrocketing out of control.  
  
"You wound me G. abandoning me so. Don't you even remember we too were once, _family_?" The words stung G.'s already damaged pride and he shook his hand free, slapping at Spade's face and making the aristocrat step backwards to avoid the gesture.  
  
"You were _never_ family!" He snarled again, stepping towards the man menacingly. Maybe if he bit enough Spade would leave him alone, "Never! You betrayed us, you were watching for the minute where you could too!"  
  
Spade watched him with an air of curiosity, head tilted slightly and a finger and thumb stretched under and across his chin, "Oh? Why ever would you think that?" He stepped forward and G. narrowly missed swiping him again as the man dodged his attack. No ring, he needed a ring to get by, he realized it when Spade's own glinted in the light. He had to get one made, something to replace it. Nothing as high of quality but... Right now, he was patently fucked. Spade seemed to come to the conclusion that he was powerless against any competent flame user about the same time he did, shaking his head.  
  
"Why," Spade said stepping past him, "I forgot. You don't _do_ logic do you?"  
  
"Shut up," G. said, acutely aware he was being abandoned and that was bringing up all sorts of issues. Even Spade didn't see him worthy to hurt anymore, even for fun. A lump raised in his throat. Worthless.  
  
"I never shut up G. Didn't you notice?" The illusionist laughed and stepped away, trotting back home without any glance back. G. made it behind the bushes nearby, an arch to his shoulders before he let himself slump, dropping to the ground, and dry-retching once. He hated this life, hated who he was. Trembling hands shoved his own body back up against a cement plaque hidden in the glossy green leaves, and dug for a cigarette to soothe his nerves. He felt too sick to light it, for the longest time he fumbled with the matches before a hand reached down and took them from him. He looked up dazedly, through a haze he tried to convince himself wasn't anything but  dizziness. He'd eaten something weird probably. Gotten sick.  
  
The match flared, and he focused on it blurrily before it cupped it to his cigarette and he took a thankful intake of smoke. Closing his eyes, and ignoring the little feeling of something rolling down his cheeks. He reached up instead, fingers around the cig to pull it free and release the stream of fast flowing smoke, which rose up towards the blue addled sky.  
  
"G. you're an idiot," Spade said watching him intently. G. jolted, eyes opening and most of his pride shattered right there. Realizing he'd been chatting with an illusion while the real Spade had slipped up behind him, ready to catch him while he was trying to recover. He couldn't hold it anymore, body just going tight and limp all at the same time in a conflict of emotions that left him with his palms open wide, and shoulders hunched up tight.  
  
"So, you say. Often." His voice flattened by the apathy he was feeling he pulled a hand up to his face again, pressing the cig between his lips, and forcing his body to coordinate again, curling up around his knees like a kid. Spade's hand landed on his head and his ego suffered another blow. Especially harsh when he realized how much he needed that little touch. He was worthless, looking for attention in the hands of such an asshole just because he'd managed to mentally break himself since the last touch.  
  
"G." Spade sunk to a crouch in front of him and G. tried to look away, dipping his head down to hide his face behind his bangs.  
  
"No, I don't need you."  
  
"You don't need much do you? Self-sufficient, except for your dear little Giotto," Spade's voice was half-singsongy, hunting for a weak spot.  
  
"I don't need him either," G. slipped, and felt his heart tumble for the issue. He hated himself when he realized how much it hurt to know he didn't need Giotto as much as he'd convinced himself in the early days. It'd been years since he saw him anyways. Even heard from him, tucked away in his comfy little hiding spot.  
  
"Oh?" Surprised laced the man's voice, "Given up on him too?" Spade seemed to be joking about G. being in the same spot, hating their Boss. Something the illusionist had become surprisingly prideful of, since the incident sent him on a mad rush for power.  
  
"He doesn't need _me,_ " G. said, giving up a little more with every word. He felt like his throat was tighter than it'd ever been with pain, and tears clung to his lower lashes again, head dropping further to hide them.  
  
"So this is just one of those little bouts where you get to feel sorry for yourself and hate the world?" Spade chuffed, blowing hair into his bangs and leaning back a little on his heels, rocking boredly. Like he'd seen G. do this a million times and knew exactly which normal teenage angst fit he was in at the time.  
  
"I don't do that," he could make it permanent. Just get rid of himself. Lampo and Alaude would take another funeral fine, and if he got rid of the body enough. Giotto might know, suspect. But he could go somewhere no one would find him and they could all just play pretend he was still around.  
  
"Yes you do G." A hand slipped through his bangs and G. snapped his teeth at them, going taut again. Eyes flashing at Spade, who watched with bored indifference. G. hated how he could make him go from contemplating just giving up, to having something to fight against so easily. He tongued his lower lip, and reached for his gun, finding to his displeasure that he was blocked by a neat cage over the holster. An illusion, but made real. He couldn't stop the flames, he didn't have his own ready. His only recourse to violence was removed, again, making him helpless. He felt numb.  
  
"Spade," he swallowed with difficulty, "I have a request."  
  
"What? Going to ask me to leave you alone little stormcloud?" Spade continued thumbing through his bangs, almost humming with amusement at the cast down figure before him. The man hesitated, but there seemed to be no other words he could use. Simplicity, no matter how stupid it sounded in his own head.  
  
"Kill me?" G. whispered to his knees, flinching at his voice cracking in the middle of the words.  
  
" _What?_ " Spade asked, his voice echoing like the riches of the world had been dropped into his lap, "You're that far gone already? How _funny_!" He was laughing along almost pleasantly with his words like this was some outlandish request for a pony or some such nonsense and G. just buried his face deeper into his arms trying to hide from his reaction. He should have expected it.  
  
"You can hide my body, you can send them letters or something, give them glimpses that make it seem like I'm still around or something, I don't care," he blurted softly, rummaging through his mind for reasons, why had he offered it to Spade?  
  
"What if I say no hm?" Spade seemed to be considering it at least, even he was still touching him like he was a small child to be taken care of.  
  
"Then you won't mind if I do it myself," a familiar sneer crossed his own lips and he looked up, catching Spade dead in the eyes with his stare, "Just, heh, giving you first crack at what we both know you'd love to do."  
  
"G. do you really think so low of me?" An eyebrow arched delicately, and G. couldn't believe in it, a mask obviously hiding his glee at the offer or something.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You _astound_ me," The man slid down further, one knee hitting the ground and an arm draping over the still upright model, "If I wanted you gone you'd have been disposed of already."  
  
"Then why not?" G. gruffed out, staring. The watermelon head obviously disliked him, he'd always been there to step on his toes, to cause him trouble for the hell of it. G. did that for everyone, trying to make them _better_ for it somehow. Trying to coax them to take it out on him rather than anywhere it'd actually harm the family. Lampo may have been the lightning rod, but G. strove to take it from him.  
  
"I simply find you interesting, fun to torment, not any real _threat_ , but enough to keep me on my toes."  
  
"Well that's too damned bad now isn't it?"  
  
"No, no, you misunderstand me," a hand along his jaw forced his head up to meet those sharp blue eyes, "I won't let you take my toy away you know. You," a squeeze, "Are staying put. You're enough of a _broken bird_ that I might as well keep you around. At the very least I can put you to some drudgery I need done." G. felt sick, watching Spade get that look to his eye, knowing that he could stop him from getting to his gun, that he could do anything to him he wanted. He shook his head free of the hand, and lunged upwards, startling Spade backwards slightly, but even that seemed feigned and perfectly played out. He leaned on one thin wrist, looking up at G. with an air of caution, and maybe a touch of perfectly feigned fear. G. turned away from that delicately posed look and stalked off, a trail of smoke behind him.  
  
No, he wouldn't look back. He heard the man on the gravel, something that'd been missing before and flinched his eyes closed, hunching forward. Spade was adding environmental cues, trying to make him believe that he had _really_ been forced to get up from his outburst. The paranoia that G. flourished with bucked against everything that could even possibly exist, putting Spade as the bad guy in his every storyline. Every move the man made was calculated, he knew that anyways, and the paranoia only made it worse. Made him think of what he could do with it. He shuddered, suddenly cold even in the dappled sunlight and looked behind him, pupils dilating and heart beating faster for a moment.  
  
The stretch of grass and cobblestones he'd wandered onto were clear, except the passing hum of a bumblebee, drowsily looking for some flowers to raid. G. stepped backwards a few steps, keen eyes on the path before turning back and raising an elbow to strike Spade if he happened to be standing behind him again. Nothing. He hurried his steps, eyes up. Looking around, and darting to catch any off movement, any slip. The faintest slip of wet looking air became an illusion sliding into place. Every butterfly wing fluttering became a trap. G. sunk quite quickly, keeping busy from his thoughts with each startlement he gave himself. Every realization he might be doomed all over again.  
  
He looked behind himself again, stumbling back against a statue, and jerked to look up into the gaze of a mournful angel, and backing up again sent him against something solid and warm. He hissed and turned, grabbing for his gun, and finding it completely missing. Nothing behind him either. He still groped for his gun, where it should be, not looking down. When he looked down Spade would show up, he had to keep his eyes up and-- he blinked. Spade smiled at him softly.  
  
"G-geh! Get away from me you sick bastard!" G. tripped backwards, boots clicking against the cobblestones as he overbalanced in his rush to get away from the illusionist and he fell. He turned his head to see where he was going for a second, a deep dark pool of water before a hand grabbed his wrist, and he hung supported over the liquid by an arm, his other hand falling back behind himself just enough that his fingertips brushed the surface, sending trembling ripples across the surface hungrily eating inches of surface as it went.  
  
"G. you are an idiot if you think I didn't notice," Spade hauled him up and away from the water, and G. growled, shoving at his chest irritably.  
  
"So what? You always call me an idiot," he turned his head, but the illusionist draped across him, and he froze dead, eyes widening. An arm each around his chest and his neck, drawing him back against the turquoise haired one. He shivered at the touch, and both fought to be closer and away from it. The contradiction almost pissed him off, at least his body could make up its mind. Hot breath on his neck, and the hand on his chest sunk to his stomach, pulling him back. He forgot how much he _missed_ this though. The feeling of someone touching him. Ah, but Spade couldn't really be touching him, he wasn't that stupid. An illusion. His gun was still there too, he knew it, if he could reach through, and make it break he could just...  
  
Spade's face pressed against his neck in a nuzzle of sorts, and G.'s mind buzzed out. That easy to break, was he really? For all the fighting, he let himself be defeated so easily, letting Spade draw him back toward another one of the hidden benches.  Toted back under an arbor of morning glory like the prize of a trapdoor spider, G. sunk down against Spade with an ache in his body, his heart, his fucking soul, that begged him to take it while he had a chance. His plans for removing himself from the picture would take this all away soon enough, but for a _damned minute_ would it be so bad to give in to an illusion?  
  
"Mmmmhm, just relax," Spade breathed and G. flexed his fingers, stopping himself from clawing at whatever was below him in the rush of dull fear. His eyes went dim, and unfocused slightly, as he always did when Spade forced an illusion on him for the sake of play. _Just disbelieve everything and you'll be alright. You can't stop him anyways._ G. winced at the internal monologue, he hated being so weak to people, to anyone, to especially Spade who'd enjoy it way too much. He sunk down lower against Spade without thinking, giving up a little more every time he managed to hit one of his own raw nerves with a certain thought.  
  
"Good boy," Spade said softly, and G. elbowed him in the stomach.  
  
"Shut up," he said gruffly.  
  
"Trying to imagine I'm Giotto?" It hadn't even occurred to him, G. looked away, " _Oh really_. You are losing hope. Isn't that just wonderful."  
  
"Did I stutter when I told you to shut up?"  
  
Spade hummed in amusement, "Why would you want me to? You're _far_ more relaxed when we're bantering." He rocked back hauling G. further onto his lap and deeper into the curves of his arms, snugged around his middle contentedly.  
  
"You're _far_ less annoying when you _shut up_."  
  
"You liked me or else you wouldn't have been so devastated when I turned on you." G. went sharply into silence at that prod, mercilessly forced to take a look at himself he hadn't noticed yet. Brutally true, and he didn't like it. He tried to push himself out of his arms, and found Spade wasn't pretending to give up anymore. He was openly enjoying his weight in his lap, hands running under his shirt and rumpling the fabric. G. felt a dart of desire and growled, wresting his hand up to shove at Spade's forehead. Spade kissed it, eying him with the look that said he was trying to put him off his game with sweetness and G. was having none of it. He bucked, elbowing Spade in the gut again and the man winced, pulling out from under G. and twisting to toss him back down on the bench. A moment later and he was in his lap, arms around his neck, and a kiss pressed firmly to his lips.  
  
G. paused for a second, before bitchily trying to shove him off, hackles raised at the intrusion on his space. Spade however had none of it, clinging to his neck angrily, and even shoving him back, biting, nipping and kissing at his lips. G. fell under the assault, snarling. A moment's thought slipped past, making him tense a little. If Spade had been an illusion, why didn't he just shift his illusion into his lap? Why the flailing limbs and fight to move on top of him. _Was this his real body?_ Spade was actually kissing him?!  
  
"Hmmm," the man hummed, letting G. breathe for a moment and giving him a drowsy half-lidded look as he hung from his neck, "You're less annoying when you shut up too. Good thing I figured out how to, now isn't it?"  
  
" _No._ "  
  
"You're such a flirt G. You know just what to say to make a man feel good about himself."  
  
"What the hell do you expect to gain from this?"  
  
"Gain?"  
  
"I am not that stupid Spade,"  
  
"Ah, well. I don't want you to kill yourself," hands shifted over him again as G. flinched, "And if it's because you're _this_ lonely and self-hating..." He trailed off, claws set against skin for a moment. Like he was considering hurting him for the sake of it, but then the sharp edges were gone.  
  
"I'm not lonely."  
  
"You lie worse than Knuckle and Asari did," G's hackles went up at the mention of his dead friends, but Spade let a burst of flame out before he could shove him off his lap in a fit of pique.  Ribbons of mist sprung up and encircled them both, cinching behind G.'s back and hoisting them together close enough that G. nearly started hyperventilating. He didn't want to be this stuck, he wanted loose. What the hell did Spade think he was doing. He struggled against the bonds.  
  
"You really should stop fighting dear," Spade tapped at the side of his jaw, watching him curiously to see what would happen.  
  
"Fuck you," G. snarled pushing at the other man's chest with his shoulders trying to get away from the illusions encircling him and drawing him in.  
  
"Such proclivities," Spade kept up with him easily. The streams of mist moving at a sedate pace against his clawing to tighten around his wrists and pull them down and out of the way behind him.  
  
"Fuck you sideways," another snarl, and he tried to put a hand on the wall of the arbor to support himself, except with arms pinned down he couldn't and started tipping backwards. His eyes widened in alarm.  
  
"You're getting creative now," Spade moved to grab him about the waist to keep him up, much to G's disgust. Not soon enough though, he wrenched a shoulder or something in his panic. A bit of pain shot up along his arm and he went limp for the time being.  
  
"Don't touch me," he wriggled mournfully at the touch of Spade's hands, but the illusionist patiently wrapped the arm more firmly around his waist.  
  
"You hurt yourself once already, do you really want to fall again? You looked so _silly_ ,"  Spade sneered.  
  
"Do you want to live without hands?" G. tried to wrench back, but Spade didn't seem willing to let go.  
  
"Nufufufu, oh G. do you really think that could happen?" Several more hands slipped across his waist and G. tensed up cringing at the idea.  
  
"Just leave me _alone,_ " another attempt to wrench himself away, and the hands faded back to ribbons.  
  
"No."  
  
"So what _do_ you gain from me living? Why can't you just let the rest of us die out so we don't have to see the shit you're doing?" G. started giving up again, letting the illusionist hang onto him. He really did feel warm, for such a cold blooded asshole.  
  
"It's no fun without an audience, at least, that's what you expect from me isn't it?" The little leer made G. look down sharply. He hated when Spade assumed things, he hated more when he was right.  
  
"Just go, please. You'll never see me again, I promise."  
  
"No, G. I'm not letting you destroy yourself."  
  
"Argh! At least if nothing else let me go just so I can relax!"  
  
"You're infuriating and stupid. You drink the milk straight from the bottle, you mope around the corners whenever you're left to yourself, and I've caught you more than once staring at the chandelier as if debating if it would fall on you by accident when it is tightly bolted in 4 places since the last incident involving a fight. You bitch and moan all the time, but when it comes down to it you're perfectly content so long as someone touches you and you know what? _I'm touching you,_ " there was a hiss of displeasure, "And you _will_ relax and you _will_ enjoy it. So shut up and deal with it like a man instead of a craven bitch. You're not the only person who lost someone."  
  
G. froze, this was the first time the woman had come up since she died, and all this shit started. Spade wasn't looking at him anymore, seeming to pull back into himself slightly. The ribbons faded harshly, a wet slick for a moment before dripping away like murky shadows. There was a cold line to his lips, drawn tight and angry. His hands were still resting on G's sides, but they were tight fists, claws set into the palms. G. hesitated. This man had torn everything from him but the pain of his face, it might be real. _Thinking his illusions and play are real, you're stepping into dangerous territory G._  
  
"I. Shit. I'm sorry." Another bout of hesitation froze his hands inches from the man who sat in his lap with his eyes shut and lips curled in a snarl.  He flexed his fingers once, considering, before he slid them over skin. Spade jerked slightly growl rising in his throat with his hackles as if disturbed from an inner moment of rage. G. pulled Spade close, wrapping his arms around him for the first time. If nothing else the pity card worked on him splendidly. He cradled the thinner man against him and rocked slightly, "You didn't say anything."  
  
"What would you have done if it was _anyone else_? You would have checked on them wouldn't you. Harassed them, bothered them, begged to see if they were okay. But not _me_." The word caught in his throat an acidic hiss.  
  
"Spade, for one thing you're fuckin' scary if you missed it," A low worried chuckle, G. brows furrowed as he stared into the still cheery garden, past the nappo near his eyes, "and another... I didn't think you'd appreciate it. You've always been closed off and hidden, nature of the Mist I guess but. Shit, I didn't think you'd want anyone to see you mourn let alone _me_."  
  
A hand clasped around his throat and G. went rigid, "The _Storm_ is the only thing that blows the mist away when it sticks around, fool. When it covers everything and hides, the storm is supposed to--"  
  
"Pull you free of your own illusions?" G. ventured a low rumble.  
  
Another hiss, and his claws set deeper into G.'s neck. G. licked his lips nervously before the look of cold fury went out of Spade's eyes and he relaxed his sudden sharp talons. He lapped at the blood on the edge of his nails as they shrunk back down and smiled sweetly instead, "You really were never the right one for the job. Any job." G.'s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened before he noted the panicked look in Spade's movements. He was being tighter and more efficient, more like a blade. Attacking, parrying. He'd gone too far for his own comfort trying to drag G out in the open. He leaned forward and grabbed his chin relaxing as Spade tightened up more than ever.  
  
"Ah," G. hesitated, "Maybe I'm not the best for this. I'm pretty fuckin' brash and loud and not so good with the delicate touch," he tightened his fingers for a brief second on Spade's chin in a near unconscious flex, "But I am the last of the Primo Vongola around here that isn't you huh?" Spade hesitated and then gave the slightest nod, "So... I'm the last one here who remembers her. The last one who was uh, anything close to family." G. ducked his head down hiding behind the red of his bangs.  He shifted uncomfortably, Spade going very still. G panicked for a second eyes darting up and searching Spade's face before he leaned in a little further, feeling all sorts of foolish and rash.  
  
"Oh man," he sighed, "you better be gay," G. growled before he kissed the man gently. Eyes closed, frowning and worried, it wasn't the best he could do, but Spade seemed to take it with a air of defiance. G. nudged against his lips hopefully, hand slipping from propping his chin up to cradling his jawline. "C'mon," he muttered, tilting his head slightly, "M'tryin' to make you feel better dick."  
  
Spade shoved him off after a second and G. gave him an exasperated look, "What now?!"  
  
" _Pawing_ at me isn't going to make me feel better," Spade pouted, arms crossing his chest defensively. G. growled loudly at the act and ran both hands through his hair in frustration.  
  
"Argh, you fuck I was tryin' to uh, shit," he tapped his forehead looking for the words and gestured, "Be affectionate I guess. I ain't good at this!"  
  
"Obviously not." Spade sniffed with the air of the elite. That hint of an aristocrat that never failed to piss G. off.  
  
"Stop bitchin'," he gruffed and leaned close to threaten Spade with invading his personal space. Nudging at him openly like a big rough dog pushing a kitten around.  
  
"You can't replace her," Spade hissed, obviously uncomfortable and trying to strike out at him.  
  
There was a serious look to G.'s eyes as he caught Spade's. He waited until the flicker of the mark in his eye finally caught his before he said slowly, "She replaced me."  
  
Spade's eyebrow went up and he waved him off laughing into his hand, "Oh is that what you think?"  
  
"She came in late! I was there fuckin' first." The grouchiness that G, was giving off was palatable. Spade tilted his head with the nasty little smile he got when contemplating something blackmail worthy.  
  
G. shot him a look and the smile widened. "You were interested?"  
  
"Er, well," G. hesitated, and shifted again, completely put off guard by the question. He felt rather uneasy answered it, what would Spade do with the information. He still didn't trust him.  
  
"I see," the sharpness of his tone was nearly cutting.  
  
"Oi! Don't sound so cold you ass, I kinda liked most of our little group."  
  
" _Liked_. I feel so special," Spade looked away in a huff, obviously displeased with how G. was going with this conversation. G. growled again.  
  
"Ugh, you make it so hard to tell you anything. Okay see? I uh, I had Giotto," he tried to explain, pausing to gather his words.  
  
" _Oh_ , that wasn't clear at _all_ ," Spade scoffed, looking away over still crossed arms and leaning back so that G. actually had to reach and support him or risk letting the man slide completely off his lap.  
  
"Shut up you mouthy little-- okay I like him because he'd always been there. Wanted to be close to him because he was the first thing I ever wanted and got. But, then the rest of you showed up, and I loved you all-- no no no, shut up," he caught the look of Spade about to speak again and cut him off. The illusionist pursed his lips, "I did, you were friggin' family alright? You were the first time I felt so damned good in years. Then it started fallin' apart and it was shitty. Friends with Knuckle turned to hate. Alaude never gave two shits for anyone. I liked them, but I didn't think I'd get anywhere. I mean shit, unless the whole family is gay and nobody bothered to _tell me_."  
  
" _Well_ \--"  
  
"Did I not just say shut up?"  
  
"Mm. Continue."  
  
"I liked most of you. Would have gone to bed with you easy, I was that close to you guys. I know, I know. It ain't that much considerin' how much I do those missions, but I'd be doin' it for the sake of the people not... anything else. And then you started it up today, and well. Fuck, why'd you come after me today? What was the rose for?" G. snapped, the question had been bugging him the entire time. Spade seemed to be using it as a trick at the time, but had that really been what it was?  
  
"Elena's grave. It's the anniversary of the incident tomorrow," the cold tone returned, after having warmed up slightly to tease him about the state of the guardian's sexuality.  
  
There was an honest wince, and G. looked down and clenched his hands on Spade's arms slightly. His stomach felt a million miles below the ground, dropping still as he thought more about it, "... Oh."  
  
"Mmhm," Spade showed his teeth in more of a grimace than a smile.  
  
"I need a calendar," G. puffed, shaking his head and trying to make himself feel better about the failure. _Anniversary of her death. It'd been that long already?_  
  
"When did Knuckle die?" Spade asked sharply.  
  
There was no hesitation, G. simply answered knowing what it was by heart, "June twen--" he stopped himself and hefted his spine straight giving him a look, "That's not nice." A trap, he hated being trapped by the asshole. Maybe this all was a terrible idea.  
  
A coy smile slid across Spade's mouth, discomfiting him further. "And what, is today's date?"  
  
A intense block of silence met his words, laced with the feeling of someone who was desperately trying to remember how long it'd been since they checked the date.  
  
"Ah," the tone was teasing again, as if it'd realized the reason he hadn't noticed the state of things was not because he didn't care.  
  
"Shut up! I haven't really given a shit since Ricardo took me off the last mission and, you're changing the subject!" G.'s hackles raised, and Spade reached up to touch his cheek soothing them instantly with how soft the touch was.  
  
"Mmm, only took you 3 minutes to notice, a record," no malice in the tone, for now. A sort of questioning ambivalence perhaps, echoed by the faint knitting of his brows. Considering, and wondering. His gloved fingertips slid across a few strands of his hair and G. sighed leaning into the palm and cupping it against his cheek. He looked at him through his bangs, mouth drawn slightly. Just as questioning.  
  
"Spade," he sighed slightly, dipping his face further into the hand, "I'm sorry, but I can't bring her back or nothin'."  
  
"I know," Spade said, clipped. G. squeezed his hand to keep him from taking it back. He was fairly sure as he clung to the faint warmth lingering there that Spade had no idea how much a fond touch like this was giving the scrawny mafia man, and he didn't want to lose it just yet from a fit of pique on Spade's part.  
  
He swallowed, and looked down again with a sigh, gathering the courage to say the next words, "And you don't really want _me_."  
  
"Dear, I would be so pleased if you would stop assuming things," a pinch at his cheek and G. let go rapidly, and gave him such a look.  
  
Then the words sunk in and his lips dropped slightly open, "Buh?"  
  
Spade sighed and leaned against his own palm eying him with raised eyebrow and faint smile, "Your mouth hangs at such an attractive angle, it's a wonder the flies aren't already swarming to see who will get to go first." Playfulness, as he reached and tweaked G.'s nose.  
  
G. growled equally playfully and leaned in sharply, close to his mouth and daring him. Sharp grin inches away and violent,"If I remember right we figured out a way to shut you up."  
  
Spade laughed softly, pressing up and teasing him as if he didn't think he'd be able to do it, "Oh rea--Mmmph." The kiss slid into place neatly again. G. actually tried this time, nipping at Spade's lower lip, and making the other man sigh at the tiny pain. He pressed him back tenderly, cupping his face. Hungry, a little for the attention, and dominant in a way he hadn't thought he'd be with a man like Spade. He always thought that with the way Spade acted he'd bring out the submissive in him more, but nonetheless, he was enjoying himself. A faint lap across the swollen spot, tasting the heat where it was already trying to heal the bite and he pulled back, eyes half-lidded and pleased. Spade watched him under equally hooded eyes, considering, and to G.'s vast amusement, blushing slightly.  
  
"You asked for it," G. announced softly, his voice like gravel.  
  
"Come to the grave with me."  
  
"I...What?" His eyebrows raised in surprise at the sudden topic change, did Spade just love fucking with him when he was getting comfortable? He held his tongue. He hadn't particularly liked her, nor known her like Spade did, and he hadn't _just_ made out with _her lover_ or anything.  
  
Spade frowned until he caught on to why G. was floundering, before rolling his eyes, "For my sake, not hers you ass."  
  
"...Fine. For you."  
  
"You certainly change a lot when you have someone to live for, so loyal. Are you really so pathetic you have to lean on someone to be happy?"  
  
G. gave him a hard look, and Spade bit his lip watching the reaction. Eyes taking on the freeze that Spade had forced him to endure earlier. He considered it, rolling the truth around his head before he winced, and dropped his head. Spade reached slowly towards his chest to check on him, but G.'s eye rose before the hand could settle and he caught his eyes, "Yes." Simple short, and with the air of someone who had known it all along and would never be able to fix it. The faint regret Spade gathered around him was dispelled when G. hauled him close for another hug. Needy little gestures like tugging at the fabric of his shirt while burying his face against his neck.  
  
"Giotto's not coming home is he?" G. asked, voice barely over a whisper and dead without hope.  
  
"No, probably not." Spade replied candidly, managing to hide the faint touch of glee that came with the words.  
  
"And neither are the others without him," G. tagged on, ignoring the tone, just wanting the information to be heard, maybe validated so he could really give up.  
  
"No," Spade agreed, frowning slightly. G.'s tone was worrying him a bit, too dead, somewhat like the apathetic state he got when dealing with his illusions. G. sighed heavily.  
  
"Will you be okay alone tonight?" G. asked suddenly, reaching up to brush fingers across his hair. Changing the topic again, Spade's eyes darkened. He was being used as a block to avoid the feelings that came with G.'s loss. He didn't like being used.  
  
"I could ask you the same question. You were begging me for death not an hour ago," he snapped, and G's soothingly stroked over the curve of an ear and leaned his lips against his temple. Spade could feel him muttering words of annoyance against his skin.  
  
"Just answer Spade," he finally growled loud enough for him to hear, closing his eyes again.  
  
A sigh, "No." The illusionist sounded so annoyed he had to admit anything let alone that, and G. chuckled.  
  
"Stay with me," he asked, nudging his nose against the curve of his jaw, "Just for the night. I wanna keep an eye on you."  
  
"Mmmhm," Spade hummed, and laced his fingers into his hair. Maybe the annoyance at how needy G. was being could wait. It was nice to be needed, a little.

\- - -

  
An alarm came up a week later, just days after the news of Alaude and Lampo's deaths found their way home, a frantic call to arms. The Giuseppe family had taken up arms against the Vongola, calling Ricardo an unfair tyrant who ruled with fear. The city had vacated the area based on whispers, and the headquarters of the Vongola barely managed to get up their defenses by the time the gossip got to their door. Ricardo had snarled, and the guardians had gone to battle. The small army that Ricardo had slowly regathered since Spade forced him into power had become strong through his vigilant training methods. While they had rained destruction and fear upon those who dared defy his word, he had also set himself up perfectly for those who would try and overthrow him. Spade abandoned G.'s side to take up his natural position at Ricardo's hip, hissing words and suggestions laced with the sugary tone of a sycophant so that Ricardo would believe they were his own ideas.  
  
Groggy G. had stumbled onto the field, yawning and pulling his weaponry out ready to go to battle. He shook off the early morning drowsy, and greeted his fellow soldiers slipping on the ring he luckily picked up from Talbot the evening before. A glint of red gem set in silver. A few smiled, one or two shied away from the man with the reputation for murdering every one of his enemies without having ever lost a battle. G. flexed his bow fingers, and waited. Sipping a hot drink brought to those settled in the chilly morning. Ricardo's flames were visible from his perch and he looked up at the man in his throne waiting for battle where he would come raging down like an ogre to turn to ash whatever he managed to catch in his hands. A vicious ruler, a hateful beast. G. shook his head and looked to the future.  
  
The surprise blow shook the side of the building, an explosive of some sort? G. pushed a fighter beside him back to his feet and started off at a quick trot towards the damage, listening to the yells and shrapnel as the Giuseppe took the field. Men clashed together, punishing blows both melee and ranged raining down on each other. Guns exploded, men cried out yelling, and metal clashed against metal. A real jamboree. G. took aim, his bow coming to his fingers like an old friend and he drew back on the bow, releasing and taking a man out transfixed through the throat with an arrow made of flame, which sent him dissolving to ash after a few moments. Mechanical, he started picking off those not of the Vongola, used to battle by now. It was demoralizing to the troops to see their own men suddenly turned to ashes however, when Flames had been but myths before this and were now being openly used. The Giuseppe started backing down, and the Vongola was winning. G. smiled hollowly as they stepped back, and a cheer rose among the men, driving back the last for the forces. Thunder users, speckled throughout the troops, came forward and with the use of their barrier inducing flames, the breech was sealed.  
  
BANG. The sound of a gun going off echoed around the walls. Mixed in among the other sounds it wasn't much, but G. felt it acutely because of the sudden deep aching pain in his back and chest. He coughed slightly, unsteady and looked down. His hand trembled as he raised it to his chest, touching the blood that was flowing freely from the exit wound in his chest.  
  
"Oh," G. started and then turned his head to look back. He knew gunshots, he knew guns. He recognized the angle, he knew where it came from even with the echoes throwing everyone else off. He looked up at Ricardo, who smiled the cold smile. _Huh, for once my paranoia was right._ His foot slipped on the brick behind him sending him backwards off the wall with the sleek simplicity of gravity. The look of sheer cruelty on the man's face made him shiver and close his eyes before he hit the ground, crumpling into a heap. He panted, once, twice. The puddle beneath him widening as his blood pumped out of his body. He shivered, the feeling of cold slicing to his bones, and he couldn't breathe. His vision was going dark in the center moving outwards, but he knew his eyes were open. It swallowed him up, and he shuddered out a last breath alone in a corner of an otherwise fatality free skirmish. He died.  
  
 _Well... shit._


End file.
